


Boy Meet-Cutes Boy

by beetle



Series: Mates and Matches [2]
Category: Bob Agent of Hydra/Gail, Deadpool (2016), Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Alpha Bob, Alpha Peter Parker, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bob Backstory, Bob's a Polyglot, BobSel, Body Image, F/M, First Kiss, First Meeting, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Insecurity, M/M, Minor Peter Parker/Wade Wilson, Omega Jack, Omega Wade Wilson, Past Bob Agent of Hydra/Gail, Possessive Alphas, Sassy Omegas, Semi-Virginal Bob, Speech Disorders, Spideypool - Freeform, Stuttering, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 11:52:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8623534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle
Summary: Handsome Alpha-boy meets sexy omega boy. Sexy omega-boy is suffering a broken heart. Despite their lack of chemistry, handsome Alpha-boy, in his customary, soft-hearted way takes pity on sexy omega-boy. And also takes him to get blind, stinking drunk. While omega-boy is engaged in that rewarding pastime, Alpha-boy trips, stumbles, and falls head-over-heels . . . for omega-boy’s best friend, a sassy, unshaven, near-sighted omega with playful, sparkling eyes, a quick, wicked sense of humor, and a mouth like a sailor on leave.The question becomes, which omega does an Alpha escort home? The one he feels responsible for? Or the one he wants to bend over a piece of furniture? Is it always bros before hos, or is there wiggle-room? And what's love got to do with it?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Notes/Warnings: AU. No powers. A/B/O. Can be read as a standalone, but is a companion piece to [A Match of My Own.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8540044)

“It’s sweet that you’re worried about Wilson, cutie-pie, but you really shouldn’t.”

 

Robert Erik Sørensen-Demski—“really, just call me _Bob_ ” to pretty much everyone—watched his former potential-omega stagger off toward the omegas’ bathroom, weaving markedly, but not listing as much as the concerned Alpha would’ve thought. When the door shut behind the hammered omega—and his admittedly ogle-worthy ass—Bob sighed and turned back to face Jack Hammer . . . his former potential-omega’s best friend.

 

Cue Bob’s heart trip-hammering as if trying to escape his chest. The once-married and once-divorced stockbroker couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him as he looked into Jack’s round, warm golden eyes with their cute, myopic little squint. And that smile . . . toothy and perfect, like a beauty king or queen . . . just _did_ _things_ to Bob’s normally calm and well-regulated body.

 

He wanted to plunge his hands in that thick, honey-blond hair and pull the omega close. Kiss that big, bright, beautiful smile until neither of them could remember their own names.

 

It was a reaction unlike any he’d ever felt toward anyone. Even Gail, his high school sweetheart and ex-wife.

 

But then, there’d been little or no bodily chemistry between him and Gail. At least none that wasn’t instinctively inimical and opposed. Gail’s (also an Alpha, and a particularly headstrong one) and Bob’s attraction had been purely physical and emotional. Not even remotely chemical. But they’d overcome that lack for over ten years—almost twenty, if one counted the eight years they were together before getting married—before everything had just imploded. Their marriage hadn’t always been happy, nor had it produced any children—thank goodness—but Bob, following his own parents’—also two married Alphas from two families that’d produced little else over the generations—example had given it his all.

 

And then, just after his thirty-third birthday, it’d all gone to hell. And in the three years since, he’d buried himself in his work for _H.Y.D.R.A. Financial Futures, LLC_. And it wasn’t until he’d mandatorily attended a gala thrown in honor of one of H.Y.D.R.A.’s biggest clients, _Connors Tech, Inc._ , headed by none other than _the_ Kurt Alban Connors, that he’d met a man who’d made him sit up and notice his own loneliness.

 

It wasn’t even a week afterwards that Bob Demski was signing up with the aforementioned man’s, Dr. Peter Parker’s—adopted son, incidentally, of Dr. Kurt Connors—matchmaking service, _A Match For Me_. In the hopes of finding at least a better fit than Gail, since he had no other ideas on how to enter an adult dating world he’d never been a part of.

 

A week after _that_ , Bob’d made an appointment to meet his potential match, as found by Drs. Parker and Stacy. Only to find himself waiting outside the conference room in which said meeting was about to take place, as the door to the room was yanked open, startling both Bob and Dr. Parker’s receptionist, Mary Jane. Out stormed a tall, muscular, _striking_ omega with hurt, angry eyes the color of evergreen needles, and a heavily scarred, but still quite handsome face: all prominent, regal bone-structure that combined in a _perfection_ of angles, framed by messy, chin-length russet hair. And, in the wake of that omega had been a wall of pheromones and hormones: a chemical soup of attraction, desire, and _need_ that screamed the intense connection between Bob's match and the ever-cool, always logical Dr. Parker. . . .

 

Now, glancing briefly over his shoulder, toward the omegas’ restroom, Bob spared another worried thought for that omega . . . one Wade Winston Wilson . . . for whom he felt no biological/chemical pull or attraction, despite finding the omega objectively quite sexy.

 

For even more than mere attraction, chemical or otherwise, Bob felt a strange _kinship_ with the other man . . . as if he’d known him for far longer than half a day.

 

Wade Wilson felt like he could be something possibly better than a potential mate. He felt like a potential _friend_ . . . a good one. And Bob, despite a kind, outgoing, pleasant personality—his mother’s words—had precious few of those.

 

“Seriously,” Jack said reassuringly, laying a warm, gentle hand on Bob’s when the Alpha turned back toward the bar and met those lucent, golden eyes, “I’ve seen Wilson drunker than _this_ , and that asshole makes it home safe and sound every time. He’s ex-Special Forces, y’know?”

 

Bob blinked, glancing down at Jack's hand on his own, then back up into that equally warm gaze. “R-really?”

 

Jack smiled, shrugging. “Well, _Canadian_ Special Forces, but still. ‘S gotta count for _somethin’_ , right? Anyway, yeah. Plus, he’s got the constitution of a _yak_. So, he’ll be aces in half an hour: struttin’ around and talkin’ shit, as per usual.”

 

“If you s-s-say so . . . b-but I thought that omegas w-weren’t allowed in c-c-combat roles in the military. Even in C-C-Canada.” Bob’s brow furrowed and Jack shrugged once more, leaning in and glancing around quickly before meeting Bob’s gaze again. Bob flushed from the nearness of those _eyes_ and from being engulfed in Jack’s scent: sweet, fresh, and lightly musky with hints of peppermint . . . like the grape hyacinths Bob’s paternal grandmother used to grow every spring, back in Denmark (rather than the common tulips and such that everyone else was obsessed with and with which she’d been utterly bored).

 

“They’re not. Hence Wilson not being in the military anymore. He got the boot for lying about his gender,” Jack said, grimacing and glancing over Bob’s shoulder. Then he was meeting Bob’s widened eyes again, his hand sliding reluctantly off Bob's. “Don’t tell him I told ya, ‘kay? I mean, he’s not exactly chill about it. Still kinda ashamed and torn-up about the whole mess. Can’t blame him, really. If ever anyone was born to be a soldier—a fucking _killer_ —it's _Wade-fucking-Wilson_. Heart of gold and a great guy, but still. And gender’s got _nothin’_ to do with that kinda instinct and ability, y’know?” Snorting, Jack moved down the bar a bit and started making another drink, unbidden. His hands, blunt, but graceful, danced among bottles and glasses like it was second nature. Bob was entranced. “I’ve seen that motherfucker take down three Alphas that tried to start some shit with a, uh . . . let’s just say drunk and vulnerable omega on his way home, one dark and dangerous night. Wilson took those dick-tips down like it was _nothin’_. Probably put the assholes in traction. Didn’t even break a sweat—physical _or_ moral.”

 

Observing Jack’s blush, Bob suddenly understood and nodded. “He s-saved your life and you two’ve been f-f-friends ever since.”

 

Still blushing, Jack shrugged again. “Three years, and counting. He’s a shit-head, but he’s _my_ shit-head. He saved my not-quite-virgin ass and, yeah, maybe my _life_. I kinda feel responsible for the lug.”

 

“Isn’t it s-s-supposed to be the, uh, other w-way around?”

 

Jack smirked a little, plonking the finished drink down in front of Bob, who raised a questioning eyebrow. “Maybe. But who gives a fuck? There’s not a long list of people willing to step between _my_ defenseless ass and certain, unwanted ravishment. Like Mama always said: Them’s the kinda friends ya _keep_ , Jacky.” The smirk widened and he nodded at the drink he’d placed in front of Bob. “Drink up, hot-stuff.”

 

“Uh. . . .” Bob was the one to blush, now. It wasn’t the first time this night and probably wouldn’t be the last. “Wh-what is it?”

 

Jack leaned in close, on the bar, his golden eyes twinkling. “Blowjob,” he enunciated, and Bob’s eyes widened some more, till it felt as if they’d fall out of their sockets.

 

“I—I b-b-beg your p-pardon?” he squeaked and Jack grinned, giving Bob a once-over that was pretty unmistakable.

 

“That’s the name of the drink, hon. The _blowjob_. Created it myself, don’tcha know?” Jack smirked again. “On the house. Drink up.”

 

“Um . . . I s-still have to d-d-drive W-Wade home. . . .”

 

“Eh.” Jack snorted once more. “I’ll put him in a cab, myself. Won’t be the first time. Besides which, one blowjob won’t knock down a, uh . . . strapping guy like _you_ , Bob.” Another once-over that left no doubt as to Jack’s interest. “Even if it _does_ , I’ll just pour _you_ into a cab, too . . . maybe we could even share one.”

 

Bob blinked, then felt a pressing need for his blowjob. He knocked it back like a pro . . . then coughed at the sweet, but strong burn of it. “ _Wow_!” he exclaimed, looking at his empty glass as if at a dangerous animal. He blinked away tears that suddenly stood out in his eyes and snorted. “That’s s-some b-blowjob!”

 

Jack burst out laughing and took the glass, and set about making another.

 

#

 

“So . . . whaddaya do for a living, Bob Demski?” Jack asked three more blowjobs and an hour later. There’d been an upsurge in customers for a bit, that’d then settled into another lull. Plus, it was getting late even for hard-core rummies.

 

Bob, a little tipsy, was simply glad to have the omega’s undivided attention again. He smiled into those eyes—which sparkled like fine champagne—and leaned on the bar with a contented sigh. “You are s-s-so . . . _so_ b-b-beautiful. Your _eyes_ are . . . m-m-mesmerizing. . . .”

 

Those mesmerizing eyes widened and Jack blushed, looking away. “Ah, you’re just sayin' that ‘cause I’ve given you four blowjobs.”

 

Snickering like a middle schooler, Bob sighed once more. “Oh . . . if only.”

 

Jack met his gaze again, all half-lidded eyes and considering smile. “Night’s still young, y’know?”

 

“Indeed.” Bob grinned and Jack returned it. “Um . . . s-s-stockbroker.”

 

“Grilled cheese sandwich . . . do I win?” At Bob's blank look, Jack’s dark-blond brows shot up in amusement. “Sorry. Thought we'd hit the random-words portion of this evening's games.”

 

“N-n-no! It’s what I d-d-do. I’m a s-s-stockbroker with _H.Y.D.R.A. Financial F-F-Futures, LLC_. Have b-been for . . . oh, eight years, now.”

 

“Wow.” Jack nodded, both impressed and amused again. “ _Someone_ was paying attention in math class.”

 

“Nah . . . n-not really. Any s-skill with math that I’ve g-g-got is inherited. B-both my parents were . . . p-prodigies. They w-were literal mathematical g-g-geniuses. I’m a _d-d-dummy_ , c-compared to them. And I w-wound up using my m-meager m-mathematical powers for evil, in my f-f-family’s scholarly eyes.” Bob’s smile faded a bit. “I was s-s-supposed to become a t-teacher or researcher or engineer, or s-s-something . . . but I felt the siren c-c-call of Wall S-S-Street.”

 

“As so many do,” Jack said mildly. “Though, if you don’t mind me saying . . . you seem _far_ too chill and sweet to be a Wall Street wolf.”

 

“You’re n-not the f-f-first person to say that,” Bob agreed with an absent return of his smile. “B-but then, you haven’t s-s-seen that side of me. I can be . . . a b-bit c--c-competitive and . . . predatory, where business is involved. Feral. I g-g-guess it’s the one place in m-my life where the Alpha in me really c-c-comes out to p-play.”

 

“Sounds . . . kinda sexy, truth be told and devil be shamed.” Jack bit his lip, raking his perfect teeth across the bottom one. Bob shivered and inhaled that grape hyacinth musk. He was already half-hard and slowly getting harder. Some of that had to do with such strong stimuli after three years of no sexual partner other than his right hand.

 

But at least ninety percent of it was the magnetism of Jack’s eyes and Jack’s smile.

 

“I d-d-dunno if I’d c-call it _sexy_ ,” Bob said breathlessly as blood rushed to his face and groin. “But I’ve b-b-been told that side of m-my p-personality is . . . surprising if one encounters it s-suddenly.”

 

“The Alpha in you sounds _hot_. Hell, you’re makin’ me wish _I_ had some Alpha in me.” Jack leaned on the bar, smirking, and Bob leaned closer helplessly, holding that flickering, tantalizing gaze because he couldn’t look away. Wouldn’t have, even if he'd been able.

 

“Are you s-speaking f-f-figuratively?” he asked with equal measures of hope and gravity. Jack’s smirk grew.

 

“Not at all.”

 

Relieved and excited, yet nervous, Bob smiled shyly. “If I d-d-didn’t know better, J-J-Jack Hammer,” he began, inhaling deeply, pointedly through his nose, fighting a moan at that delicious, seductive scent. “I’d s-swear you were c-c-coming on to me.”

 

“Well, cutie-pie . . . what makes you think you _do_ know better?” Those golden eyes were hypnotic . . . like twin wedding rings. Bob licked his lips, noting that Jack glanced at the small motion and shivered. No one had _ever_ reacted to Bob so intensely.

 

“You kn-know . . . I’m starting to think I d-d-don’t know anything at all,” he admitted, leaning a little closer, still, but feeling completely out of his depth.

 

“Must not,” Jack agreed sanguinely. “Or else you’da kissed me four hours ago.”

 

Bob groaned softly, cursing his own obliviousness and inability to flirt. “I v-v-very much wish I had a t-t-time machine.”

 

“ _Really_ don’t need one, Bob,” Jack breathed, leaning in closer, as well, till all Bob could smell was that fresh-musk scent with its minty undertones, and the ghosts of blowjobs past. “And just so we’re clear: that was me _telling_ _you_ to kiss me, Bob. _Right now_.”

 

“Yes, p-p-please,” Bob murmured, darting in to press his lips to Jack’s almost chastely. Though there was nothing chaste about the moan that parted Bob's lips just as Jack parted his own. Bob made a soft, somewhat embarrassing sound that was pure yearning and Jack chuckled throatily, slipping his tongue rather boldly past Bob’s tingling lips.

 

He _tasted_ like peppermint, too. Peppermint, and something creamy and rich. Maybe _Bailey’s_.

 

This time, Bob’s moan was _all_ hunger. He surged up into the kiss suddenly, instinctively, taking control of it with a decisive stroke of his tongue into Jack’s sweet, willing mouth.

 

It’d never been like _this_ with _anyone_ , either. Well, nothing like this with all _two_ of the other people he’d ever kissed—one being his third cousin four times removed, Viktor Demski, when they were both fourteen and Bob was visiting his mother’s family in Poland for the summer; the other, of course, being Gail. Bob had never experienced such a _kamikaze_ , lightning-strike sort of desire for anyone. Much like Bob himself tended to be, his desires were reasonable and controlled. _Civilized._

 

 _This desire_ , however . . . not so much.

 

Jack’s warm, steady hands came up to cup Bob’s face gently, his thumbs stroking Bob’s cheeks so light and soft, despite the way Bob was trying to devour him mouth-first.

 

“And you waited this long to kiss me . . . _why_?” Jack panted when they broke the kiss by mutual, but unspoken need for oxygen. Bob leaned his forehead against Jack’s, laughing a little.

 

“Well . . . I d-d-didn’t wanna be just another f-f-forward, asshole-Alpha who c-c-comes in here and thinks he c-c-can . . . j-just take liberties with the g-g-gorgeous omega b-bartender probably _everyone_ wishes they c-c-could g-g-get with.”

 

“Uh . . . wow, that’s . . . you’re one _charming_ motherfucker, cutie-pie, but you’re vastly overstating my actual hotness.” Jack’s tone was wry and self-deprecating.

 

“I’m r-r-really not, J-J-Jack,” Bob insisted, leaning back a little to look into those wedding-ring eyes, catching a shy, uncertain look on Jack’s normally confident, relaxed face. “B-b-between your eyes and smile and s-s-scent . . . an Alpha’d have to be b-blind and missing their olfactory g-g-gland to not b-be _instantly_ enamored of you. And that’s j-just the _physical_ -s-stuff. You’re also f-f-funny, smart, and c-c-caring. A g-g-good person and a g-g-good _f-f-friend_ ,” Bob added, nodding over his shoulder, towards the restrooms.

 

Jack blushed and smiled tentatively, opening his mouth to respond, then frowning a moment later. At the same moment, Bob was also frowning, even as his eyes widened with the exact same realization.

 

“Wilson’s been gone an awful long time. Even if he had to take, like, six _massive_ shits,” Jack noted. Grimacing, Bob nonetheless agreed.

 

“That, he h-has. Maybe he’s, uh . . . s-sick f-from all the b-b-boilermakers?”

 

Jack snorted, looking past Bob, toward the restrooms, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I’ve seen that asshole do _fifteen_ of those and not even suffer a hangover, let alone gastrointestinal issues. Nah. Somethin’s rotten in the kingdom of Manhattan, methinks.”

 

“Maybe I sh-should. . . .” Bob nodded over his shoulder, but Jack shook his head.

 

“I’ll go. If there’re other omegas in that restroom, _you’d_ freak the shit out of them. Maybe literally.”

 

Bob grimaced again, then stood as Jack moved toward the other end of the bar and the flip-up wooden panel to let himself out. He approached Bob with a sedate shuffle that belied his concern. He was almost Bob’s height of six-four, perhaps an inch shorter, stocky, bordering on pudgy, wearing a loose-knit blue sweater under a brown vest and over worn black jeans. His feet were shod in black Converse All-Stars with neon-purple laces.

 

He was, in all his seedy-hipster glory, the hottest omega Bob had ever laid eyes on.

 

“Okay,” Jack, looking up slightly into Bob’s eyes, sighed. “Let’s go check on Wilson.”

 

Bob nodded and swept an arm out for Jack to lead the way. And if Bob took the opportunity afforded him by following to stare at Jack’s enticingly full backside, well . . . that was between Bob and the aforementioned backside.

 

#

 

“Think you should g-g-give him another t-try?” Bob asked two hours later, as he waited for Jack to lock down the empty bar. The omega set the alarm system with practiced speed and grunted.

 

“Yeah. It’s been almost an hour since last time. Broke asshole can’t even afford a burner phone, let alone a decent smartphone with voicemail. Alls he’s got is a landline cordless that he never remembers to recharge.” Sighing, Jack finished with the alarm and took out his phone. Wade was number one on his speed dial and Jack touched the speaker button.

 

It rang and rang, like it had the other few times Jack had tried. And then it rang some more.

 

Jack and Bob looked at each other, the former shrugging and about to hang up, fifteen rings later, when suddenly the line engaged.

 

“Whoever you are, it’s almost 3:30 in the morning. Wade is asleep. Please call back la—” a sleepy, but commanding—and familiar—voice started.

 

“Who is this?!” Jack demanded, sounding upset and angry. But Bob was snatching the phone. “Hey!”

 

“ _D-D-Dr. P-P-Parker_?!” Bob asked, surprised. There was silence for a few moments, then Parker was speaking, his voice cold and flat and _very_ alert. Almost threatening.

 

“Mr. Demski.” Another pause. “How did you get my mate’s home number?”

 

“He _didn’t_. _I’m_ the one calling, asshole!” Jack shouted into the phone. “Wilson’s my best friend and I swear, if you’re messing with his heart again, motherfucker, Alpha or not, I’mma smack the _bitch_ outta—”

 

“Bob?” Wade’s voice suddenly came on the line, only half-awake and yawning.

 

“I’m here, W-Wade. So’s J-J-Jack. Um . . . hi!” Bob said. The response this received was a chuckle, tired and fond.

 

“Ah . . . yeah . . . hi. Sorry about ditching you guys. But . . . um, I was kinda a third wheel on you guys’ bicycle o’ love. So I went home, and, ah . . . _Petey_ , _stop_ . . . I kinda, um . . . have company, right now. So, can we catch up tomorrow or something?”

 

“Wade—Jesus, what—” Jack began worriedly. But Wade cut him off.

 

“Weas. _Jack_. Listen. Right now, I’m going into round two of my heat and so’s my Alpha. So, you and Bob are _officially_ cock-blocking us. Which, y’know, is _really_ not appreciated, though _thank you_ for worrying.”

 

“Your _Alpha_?!” Jack demanded in what was practically a screech. “Dude, what the _fuck_ is goin’ on with you, today?!”

 

“Good things, Weas . . . only good things,” Wade purred throatily, laughing in a way that made Bob blush. “You an’ Bobby have a _goooood_ night, y’hear? Bye-zees—oh, _fuck, yes_ , Peter . . . just like that, _Alpha_ . . . yes—”

 

Nothing but dial-tone.

 

Bob and Jack shared another look. Then Bob was ending the call and handing back the phone. Jack put it away slowly, still clearly in a state of shock. Though amused—and happy for Wade and Dr. Parker—Bob felt a little bad for Jack, who looked lost and out of the loop.

 

“But . . . I don’t know _shit_ about this Parker-guy. Like . . . is he nice? Is he cute? Does he treat Wade right? Is he a gentleman? Will he be a good Alpha to Wade? Or a big, callous, douche-nozzle like Nate Summers? Jesus,” Jack sighed heavily, turning his sad, slightly pouty expression to Bob. “What if this guy _hurts_ Wade? Not, like, physically, though, yeah, that, too. But I mean . . . what if he breaks Wade’s heart? _Again_?”

 

“He _won’t_ , J-J-Jack,” Bob promised, taking the omega’s hand, which was chilly, now. Then, with a gentle tug, Bob was leading the way west, toward where he’d left his car. It probably had about fifty tickets, by now. “Dr. P-P-Parker’s a g-g-good man. A sc-scared one, I think. Or he w-was. B-but I think he’s r-r-realized what a t-treasure he has in Wade W-W-Wilson, and is taking the appropriate steps to c-c-care for that t-treasure.”

 

Jack shook his head, dragging his feet stubbornly. “He'd _better_. Wilson’s the closest thing I have to a brother. And that _includes_ my four actual older brothers. If _anything_ happens to him because of that guy—”

 

“ _It won’t_ ,” Bob swore, smiling a reassuring smile of his own. One that faded as some of Jack’s upset transferred to him and a cold, angry, protective-possessive part of him sat up, and came forward to have its say and calm the omega whose hand was now so warm, so _trusting_ in its own. “And if D-D-Dr. Parker somehow loses his m-m-mind and d-d-does something to cause Wade even the _s-slightest_ upset . . . well, Wade’s _m-my_ _f-f-friend_ , now, too. And I d-d-don’t c-c-care _who_ Parker’s f-f-father is, I’ll do my b-best to _burn his life to the ground_ if he b-breaks Wade’s heart again. You’ve g-g-got my fucking word on that, J-J-Jack.”

 

Jack blinked, surprised, and returned the smile with dawning wonder and relief. Then he linked his fingers with Bob’s and let himself be lead west without further resistance.

 

“I _like_ the Alpha in you, Bobby. I like him a _lot_ ,” he murmured, swinging their hands. Blushing, Bob bumped their shoulders and Jack laughed.

 

“The Alpha in _m-me_ likes _you_ . . . in p-part b-because you bring it out of me so s-s-strongly,” Bob admitted, pausing to pull Jack close and kiss his lips lightly. But Jack made a hungry sound and really leaned into the kiss, turning it into something delightfully deep and dirty, wonderfully wet and wanton.

 

Then he broke the kiss suddenly to pant: “Take me home, Bobby.”

 

“Um . . . okay . . . where d-d-do you live. . . ?”

 

“No-no-no,” Jack breathed, his wedding ring-gaze holding Bob’s steadily. “I _mean_ . . . take me _home,_ Bobby.”

 

Realization hit Bob like a freight train and he grinned, big and goofy, he knew, but suddenly didn’t care. He squeezed Jack’s hand and started them down the street again, at a brisk clip that was more of a light jog.

 

“My c-c-car’s this way,” he said unnecessarily, and Jack laughed again, keeping up with Bob’s long-legged lope easily.

 

#

 

“Wow,” Jack said in a small, impressed voice, looking around Bob’s condo as Bob let them in and flicked the light switch. “Nice place, cutie-pie. Very Gordon Gecko.”

 

Bob laughed. “Th-th-thanks . . . I think.” He tossed his keys in the reddish-brown, handmade Guatemalan worry-bowl he kept on a small table by the door as a key/change/mail drop. He watched as Jack looked around—he was squinting a little, his glasses tucked in the collar of his sweater, apparently forgotten—the tasteful and Spartan living room. Bob’d had it professionally decorated, having neither time or taste to do such things, himself.

 

“Just you?” Jack asked, shrugging off his black, vintage leather jacket and draping it on the back of the nearest chair. Bob smiled a bit, locking the door without looking from sheer habit.

 

“Yeah.” He followed Jack a bit further into the living room as the omega wandered straight to Bob’s bookshelves and began examining titles, his full lips moving slightly. “N-n-no roommates since the d-d-divorce.”

 

This caught Jack’s attention, and he looked up from examining Bob’s well-thumbed copy of Carl Sagan’s _Cosmos_. First edition copy and a gift from his father upon receiving his MBA.

 

“You were married?”

 

“Yep. F-f-for eleven and a half years, to m-my high school s-s-sweetheart.”

 

Jack frowned. “I’m, uh . . . sorry things didn’t work out with him.”

 

“Her. And thanks. B-but it was k-k-kinda d-d-doomed from g-g-go, I g-g-guess. Everyone told us so, but G-G-Gail and I . . . we d-d-didn’t listen. Everyone told us two Alphas’d n-never work. That we’d t-t-tear each other apart.” Bob snorted. “I suppose we sh-should b-both be g-g-grateful we realized we'd f-f-fallen out of love before we g-g-got to the tearing-each-other-apart s-stage.”

 

Jack drifted away from the bookshelves, past Bob’s burgundy leather living room set. Approached Bob slowly, hesitantly, until he was in Bob’s space and placing gentle hands on Bob’s chest. The warmth of those hands was tangible even through the fine wool of his suit. Those amazing eyes were steady on Bob's, serious and intent. “We can’t help how we feel or who we love, Bob. The best we can do when it comes to life and love is to play the hand we’re dealt and make the most of it. And from the sound, you did that for a long time. And _kept_ doing it till your hand was played out. There’s nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all. But when life deals ya a _new_ hand . . . well, ya gotta keep your eyes open for that moment and _grab_ a good opportunity when it comes your way. And _no_ , I’m _not_ speaking figuratively.”

 

Not one to keep on missing cues, Bob put his hands on Jack’s hips— _grabbed_ them—suddenly yanking the omega against him, so that their bodies were pressed tightly together. Jack grinned and wrapped his arms around Bob’s neck, leaning in till their noses brushed. They were both hard, not that either of them needed more than their sense of smell to know that.

 

“Hey, cutie-pie,” Jack murmured, his eyes now a blur of heated, hungry gold. “Fancy meeting a place like you in a guy like this.”

 

Chuckling, Bob inhaled that grape hyacinth/peppermint-scent and sighed. “I think you’re _s-swell_ , J-J-Jack Hammer. And I _r-really_ —” he whispered back, but the second half of the whisper was stolen by Jack’s eager kiss.

 

“As bad as I want you, Bob Demski—and I’d _totally_ let you bend me over the back of your couch and fuck my ass raw—I, _fuck_ ,” Jack panted when he broke the kiss a few minutes later, his fingers scritching through the short, blond curls at Bob’s nape. “Fuck, maybe we can do that later. For now . . . show me your bedroom?”

 

“B-b-best idea ever,” Bob agreed, stealing a quick tease of a kiss before tugging Jack after him, past the kitchen and dining room, down the brief hall, past the guest bedroom and bathroom, to the master bedroom.

 

All was as he’d left it, he was pleased to note when he flicked on the light then dimmed it by two-thirds. It was the closest he could get to ambience without running around and playing with the ambient floor-lamps his decorator had insisted on.

 

But his bedroom was fairly Spartan, just the California King bed and an upholstered foot-rest, two night tables, a dresser, and a decorative rattan chair in a corner near the window. Some abstract photos and paintings on the white walls. And the ambient lamps, of course.

 

The bed itself was, of course, huge, and tastefully appointed in red and black sheets with a thread-count higher than Bob’s parents’ I.Q.s combined, a grey and red checkered duvet, and about a dozen pillows and cushions.

 

“Oh-em-gee, Bob-hon, this bed is . . . a dream come true,” Jack said, squeezing Bob’s hand and glancing back at him with a playful smirk. “It’d be a shame _not_ to get done in a bed this awesome.”

 

“F-f-far be it from me to d-d-disappoint the m-most lovely eyes I’ve ever s-seen,” Bob replied, reaching up to brush his fingers along Jack’s stubbly jaw. He could feel the blush that heated the omega’s scruffy cheek and smiled. “Y'kn-know, I’ve never k-k-kissed anyone with f-f-facial hair, till you.”

 

“See what you’ve been missin’ out on?” Jack quirked his eyebrows and Bob leaned in very close, until those eyes were his universe again.

 

“Yes, I d-d-do,” he said solemnly, before kissing Jack gently, slowly, tenderly.

 

Of course, the kiss didn’t stay that way for long. Soon, it was heated and hard and messy, interspersed with moans and groans and grunts as Jack tried to hold Bob closer to grind against him and Bob tried to push Jack away a bit to get the bespoke grey suit off.

 

Finally, laughing and blushing and panting, they stepped apart reluctantly, with last, lingering touches. Bob shrugged off his already half-off jacket and vest, tossing them at the rattan chair near the window. While he went to work on his belt and pants Jack, wide-eyed, watched for a few seconds before setting to work on his vest and sweater, which he eventually tossed at the chair, as well. Under the sweater was an over-sized, tie-dyed wife-beater that caught Bob’s eye. And punched that eye in the fucking face.

 

“Th-th-that is, uh. . . .” he started, dropping his belt on the floor as he blinked at the chaotic, kaleidoscopic rainbow of a shirt.

 

“Eye-watering?” Jack snorted, tugging on the hem of the shirt nervously. “My nephew Davey made it for me at summer camp, last year. Not my _favorite_ shirt, but my favorite _nephew_ , so. . . .”

 

“Ah.” Bob laughed, unbuttoning his shirt efficiently and shrugging out of it before sending it in the same direction as the jacket and vest. Next were the pants, leaving Bob in a pristine white t-shirt and _Animaniacs_ boxers, the front of which was tented out quite a bit.

 

This time, _Jack_ laughed, letting go of his wife-beater to work on his jeans. “Just when I think you can’t possibly get anymore awesome . . . you exceed all previous levels of awesomeness, Bob Demski.”

 

Blushing, Bob balled-up and free-threw the t-shirt he’d just pulled off in the same direction everything else he’d been wearing had gone. Jack’s eyes widened as his baggy jeans fell to the floor in a puddle of dark denim.

 

“Wow . . . you’re . . . really built and _cut_ , cutie-pie,” he mumbled, sounding almost dismayed. Bob looked down at himself and shrugged.

 

“Um. I g-g-guess? All I ever d-d-do for the past f-f-few years is work and workout. G-g-get stressed and _relieve_ that stress at the g-g-gym.” Another shrug. Jack snorted again.

 

“You don’t even wanna _know_ how _I_ relieve stress,” he muttered, hanging his head. Bob smiled and moved closer.

 

“Actually. . . .” he said playfully, not stopping till he had his arms around Jack’s waist and the man himself pulled flush against him once more. Jack was still hard, but wouldn’t meet Bob’s eyes. “What’s w-w-wrong, J-J-Jack? Have I. . . ?”

 

“No!” Jack’s eyes darted up to Bob’s for a moment before skittering away again. “ _No_ , you’re . . . you’re fuckin’ _beefcake_ , baby. Perfect-a-mundo. And _I’m_ . . . _so not_ , it ain’t even funny. You’re, uh . . . further out of my league than I thought.”

 

“How s-s-so?” Bob blinked his confusion. “I want you— _so m-m-much_ —and you want _m-m-me_ —I hope. N-no one’s out of anyone’s league.”

 

Jack was shaking his head. “Bob, you don’t get it. I’m not _perfect_ , like you. I’m not remotely in shape. Not handsome. Not— _Jesus_ , we haven’t even got _time enough_ to stand here discussing all the things I’m _not_!”

 

“Then stop w-wasting time _d-d-doing_ exactly that, and let’s f-f-finish g-g-getting naked and see where the whole nudity-th-th-thing takes us . . . okay?” Bob reached up and brushed Jack’s thick, straight hair back from his face, then tilted that face up by its chin, till Jack met his gaze almost unwillingly. “And f-f-for the record, J-J-Jack . . . I happen to f-f-find your body _very_ sexy.”

 

Jack snorted ruefully. “You haven’t even _seen_ it, yet!”

 

“No . . . but I’ve _f-f-felt_ it. I _f-f-feel_ it and . . . I _really_ like what I f-f-feel.”

 

Jack’s brow furrowed and he tried to pull away. “Bob, you’re . . . sweet . . . but—”

 

“P-p-please d-d-don’t tell me that _this_ —what’s b-between us—can’t happen because you think I d-d-don’t or won’t f-f-find you attractive. Because I _d-d-do_ , J-J-Jack. I really, _really_ d-d-do. And I think I want you m-more than I ever wanted G-G-Gail or anyone else. _Please_ ,” Bob said softly, kissing Jack’s lips, the tip of his nose, his cheek, his neck, pretty much anywhere he could reach while holding on so tight.

 

“God, Bob . . . after that little speech, if you change your mind when I take my clothes off, I _swear_. . . .”

 

“B-believe me, I won’t.”

 

“But if you _do_ —”

 

“F-f-feel f-f-free to knee me in the b-balls. I’ll d-d-deserve it.”

 

Jack burst out laughing and sniffled a little. “Yeah, well, I’da done that, anyway, if you changed your mind, ya Yuppie shit. But still . . . I’da been pretty disappointed and upset.”

 

“Well, it’s a g-g-good thing I’m _not_ g-g-gonna change my m-mind, then, isn’t it?” Bob asked, leaning in again—slowly, so Jack could stop him if he wanted.

 

“Yeah,” Jack agreed, some minutes later, when they both surfaced from the kiss because of a need for air. That basic need did nothing to mitigate Bob's _other_  basic need: to keep tasting and claiming Jack's wet, kiss-swollen lips and sweet, eager mouth. “ _Real_ good thing.”

 

“Mmhmm. And you know wh-what?” Bob began moving them toward the bed, holding Jack’s body in his arms and Jack’s still-uncertain gaze with his own. “I’ve k-k-kinda always wanted to g-g-give a b-b-blowjob. The act, not the d-d-drink.”

 

Jack’s brows slowly rose. “You’ve . . . you’ve never given a blowjob, before?”

 

“Nope. N-never been with a g-g-guy, omega or otherwise, b-before. Well,” Bob colored deeply and cleared his throat. “I _d-d-did_ make-out with a d-d-distant c-c-cousin in Poland, one afternoon when I was f-f-fourteen—he was a b-beta—but. . . .”

 

“Damn, that’s some straight-up _Alabama_ -shit, right there!” Jack decided, chortling, then squawking when Bob pinched his right butt-cheek through his boxers. “Well, it is!”

 

“So, I’m g-g-guessing, then, that means you _d-d-don’t_ want to help me lose the rest of my v-v-virginity, or let me put m-m-my Alabama-shit mouth on your c-c-cock. . . .”

 

“Whoa, whoa, let’s not be hasty, there, cutie-patootie,” Jack said quickly leaning close to nuzzle Bob’s cheek in apology. “I was just being a dick. Sorry. What else are distant cousins for if _not_ sexual exploration and experimentation. Amirite?”

 

“Uh—”

 

“So, about your first beej, Mr. Demski,” Jack went on just as quickly, smiling big and bright. “If ya want, I could give you some . . . pro-tips first? Show ya how it's done before you make your attempt?” Those wedding ring-eyes flickered and flared in the low lighting, and Bob moaned softly, his eyes fluttering shut at the thought of Jack’s smart, sassy, perfect mouth on him. Anywhere. _Everywhere_. And yes, especially on his cock. But. . . .

 

“I really want to t-taste you, J-J-Jack Hammer. Want to make you c-c-come because of something I d-d-did.”

 

“Jesus, Bob, I’m about to come just because of somethin’ you _said_ , never mind somethin’ you _did_!” Jack complained, pushing his erection against Bob’s thigh pointedly.

 

Smiling, Bob opened his eyes and without so much as glancing away from those wide, golden eyes, sank to his knees slowly, taking Jack’s damp _Pinky and the Brain_ boxers with him.

 

#

 

Shortly after dawn, Bob woke up just before his alarm went off, as usual.

 

 _Unlike usual_ , he didn’t wake up alone in his massive bed. A fact which he realized as the alarm began to blare and the warm, pliant body in his arms started to moan and toss a little. He nuzzled a smooth shoulder before reaching behind him, then opening his eyes and rolling over to face his clock-radio when sightless flailing didn't work.

 

Six-fifteen a.m.

 

“Sorry, J-J-Jack,” Bob whispered in his lover’s hair after he'd dismissed the alarm and rolled back over to take Jack in his arms again. He buried his face in that soft, fragrant hair—even the washed-out, gentle dawn-light was too bright for Bob’s tired eyes—and sighed. “Go b-b-back to sleep.”

 

“Mmmugh,” Jack grumbled, barely awake. “Don’ ya gotta be a’ work, Bobby?”

 

“Eh. I’m upper m-management. Even if I _hadn’t_ sch-sch-scheduled the rest of the week off to t-take c-c-care of my, um, p-p-potential-omega, I would still get to take sick d-d-days as needed. Especially since I’ve _n-never_ taken one in eight years.”

 

“You’re a fuggin’ robot, hon,” Jack yawned, relaxing and snuggling back into Bob’s embrace. He sounded slightly more cogent, though. “Sexy as a _motherfugger_ , but a robot. Mmm . . . and I, for one, welcome my new robot overlord,” he added with a sleepy smile in his voice as Bob pushed his morning wood against the small of Jack’s back. “Hmm . . . now that we’re all rested and shit, think you might wanna. . . ?”

 

And with that, Jack wriggled back against Bob’s erection, succeeding in waking them both up completely.

 

“If . . . if you think you’re r-r-ready? If it’s not . . . t-too soon? I mean, last night . . . um, the b-b-blowjobs were . . . oh, my G-G-God . . . that was the b-best sex I’ve ever had!” Bob enthused quietly, kissing the back of Jack’s head. “ _You’re_ the b-best.”

 

“Then imagine how great it’ll feel once we actually _have_ _sex_ ,” Jack murmured, stretching and yawning again, turning over in Bob’s arms. His sleepy, slightly reddened golden eyes were fond and still tired, but _definitely_ interested. “Blowjobs’re just foreplay.”

 

“Mm.” Bob’s reply was noncommittal, since he wasn’t certain he agreed. But he couldn’t deny that he wanted nothing more than to be inside Jack’s tight, welcoming body, thrusting his way to the hot, sweet core of him. “You’re _s-s-sure_?” he asked anyway, just wanting to be positive they were on the same wavelength. Jack rolled his eyes and chuckled, causing Bob to blush and mumble. “I j-j-just . . . y'know . . . d-d-don't want to r-rush you into anything you're m-maybe not ready f-f-for.”

 

“Cutie-pie, my body’s been making slick since almost the first moment I saw you. It’s making slick _right now_ because it wants and _expects_ to be fucked by the ridiculously sexy Alpha whose been poking it in the back and ass with his big dick since before sun-up.” Jack reached behind himself, pushing Bob’s hand from where it rested at the center of Jack’s back, down to his ass, humming happily when Bob automatically grabbed his left cheek and squeezed possessively. “ _Oh_ , yeah, baby. Ya got the right idea— _great_ instincts. Just gotta _follow_ ‘em.”

 

“I’ll k-k-keep that in m-mind,” Bob murmured as he suddenly rolled on top of Jack, pinning the omega with his heavier, stronger body, and swooping down for a long, thorough kiss that even their skanky morning-breath couldn’t ruin.

 

Jack squirmed and writhed, spreading his legs so that Bob could settle between them, even as Bob pushed Jack’s right leg out, then slid his hand up the soft, fragile skin of Jack’s inner thigh.

 

“Bob!” Jack exclaimed in a torn voice as Bob fondled his balls the way he had hours earlier, then teased his way back along Jack’s sensitive, slightly damp perineum. Then between his slippery-wet cheeks and to the slick, throbbing pucker between them.

 

Bob hadn’t expected quite this much slick, but damned if he wasn’t turned on by it. By that sweet, familiar, musk-and-mint scent. He wanted to smell it forever. To taste it. To just . . . exist in it.

 

“Are you . . . are you going into h-h-heat?” Bob broke their current kiss to ask. Jack blinked up at him, surprised and amused when Bob held his slicked fingers up to examine the clear, slightly viscous fluid on them, before putting them right in his mouth. “Wow . . . you _t-t-taste_. . . .” _sweet-salty-musky-perfect._

 

“Nope. Not in heat. But, Sex Ed. 101: Male omegas’ll produce at least a _little_ slick when they’re turned-on, heat or not. Maybe a _lot_ , if they’re _really_ turned-on.” Jack smirked as Bob swooped in again for a long, lazy kiss with lots of tongue.

 

“And, uh . . . _are_ you really t-t-turned-on?” Bob panted, once more seeking out, then circling Jack’s hot, slippery entrance with shaking fingers that wanted nothing more than to begin the divine push _in_.

 

Jack arched up against Bob’s body, then somehow impaled himself on Bob’s index and middle fingers, with a loud hiss and a long, hungry, _demanding_ moan, like a cat in heat, his cock twitching tangibly against Bob’s stomach. His eyes were wide and dilated, his breathing fast, shallow, and erratic.

 

“Whadda _you_ think, blue-eyes?” he quipped, then moaned again as Bob kissed him once more, hard and desperate, even as he began moving his fingers in and out, scissoring them gently.

 

“Fuck me, Bob,” Jack ordered some infinite time later. Dawn was almost morning and Bob was in deep with four fingers, mouthing at Jack’s left nipple and alternately catching it between careful teeth. “OhGodinHeaven _PLEASE_ fuckmerightnow!”

 

Which all came out on one long huff of breath. Bob groaned and slowly pulled out of Jack’s tight, hot, clenching body, then flailed at his night table, knocking over the clock-radio, and a decorative, fist-sized chunk of Slovenian singing quartz.

 

“What—?” Jack began irritably.

 

“Lube,” Bob replied absently as he yanked open the night table drawer. “F-f-for my, uh—”

 

“ _Really_ don’t need it, hon.”

 

“B-b-but—”

 

“Trust me: I’m slick enough that lube’s gonna be overkill. Just _fuck me_ , Bobby.”

 

That said, Jack started to turn onto his stomach. But Bob stopped him. Pinned Jack’s warm, soft, _gorgeous_ body with his own and kissed the center of his chest.

 

“Face to face, Jack,” he said firmly, in a low voice that left no room for argument and had no stutter. Jack searched Bob’s eyes for a few moments, then nodded once, his face gone endearingly vulnerable. So much so that Bob's inner-Alpha growled in cold, sudden anger at the thought that anyone might have ever hurt its— _their_ omega.

 

And maybe some of that showed in Bob's eyes, as suggested by Jack's next words.

 

“As Alpha commands,” he snarked, but his voice shook just a bit too much for it to be genuine sarcasm. Then he was gasping as Bob lifted the lower half of his body easily, with one arm, then slipped two cushions under his ass and lower back. He then positioned himself so that Jack’s thighs were resting on his own, at an ascendant angle.

 

Bob took his cock in hand, hissing, himself, as even just his own touch nearly set him off. He shuffled into a slightly better position and hitched Jack a bit closer then a bit closer, still.

 

“Oh . . . oh, Bob!” Jack gasped as Bob guided his cock forward slowly, steadily, pushing with careful and calculated force until the very tip of his cock was in Jack’s hotwettightHEAVEN body.

 

With another groan, Bob fought his every instinct, fought not to simply fuck his way in, hard and fast, till he came harder than he ever had. He counted backwards from thirty until his body was somewhat under his own control once more, then opened eyes he hadn’t even realized he’d closed, to find Jack gazing up at him with wide, desperate eyes in a flushed face.

 

“Please, Bob . . . _don’t stop now_. . . .”

 

“N-n-need a m-m-minute. . . .” Bob stuttered out, but at the same time, resumed his steady, slow push inward as he calculated the Fibonacci Sequence into the low hundreds, in an effort to distract and calm himself.

 

It was all such sweet, sweet torture that finally ended when Bob was as deep as he could go and Jack was gasping every few breaths and moaning, his entire body shuddering deeply.

 

“Are y-you . . . am I h-hurting you?” Bob asked, torn between his own intense, growing pleasure and concern for his lover’s well-being. The Alpha in him, though desperate to take-have-CLAIM, refused to let him harm their precious omega in any way.

 

But Jack laughed and hummed, his eyes fluttering shut. “Hurtin’ me _real_ bad, baby . . . hurt me some _more_. . . ?”

 

Grinning, Bob hitched Jack a bit closer, _still_ , his own cock sliding just a little deeper, driving another hiss and cat-like yowl from Jack’s throat. Then Bob was pulling out carefully and thrusting back in a little harder and a good deal faster.

 

“ _More_ ,” Jack ordered, his fingers biting into Bob’s right bicep and left shoulder, respectively. His eyes were open again, still dilated and pleasure-dazed. “You _won’t_ break me, Bob-honey . . . I’m an _omega_ : My ass was _made_ to be worked and rode like a fuckin’ _army-mule_ , _comprende_?”

 

Instead of answering immediately, Bob pulled out fast and drove back in _hard_ , forcing a high-pitched squeak and whimper from Jack. And the omega’s short, blunt, well-kept nails broke Bob’s skin in several spots.

 

“ _C-c-comprende_ ,” Bob said with mild and amused obedience, even as his Alpha-instincts took over and pistoned his hips back and forth, pushing his leaking, aching cock in and out of Jack's body at a fast, hard, and eventually near-punishing rate.

 

And Jack, for his part, seemed _quite_ satisfied with both the increasing intensity and accelerating pace Bob set.

 

Thereafter, the only sounds to be heard—other than the wavering moans and high gasps Bob wrung from Jack as he put his back into the delightfully resilient and receptive omega—were Bob’s _own_  low grunts and muttered curses, encouragements, and endearments in Danish, Polish, and German.

 

And after they’d both come—thrice for Jack, while clawing Bob's shoulders and biceps; twice for Bob, while groaning so loud, he couldn't even hear his own thudding heartbeat anymore—to the point of being unable to get it up anymore for a couple hours, Jack lay, sweating and panting, curled against Bob’s side, the Alpha’s strong arm around his shoulders. Jack threw his right leg over both of Bob’s with a sated sigh and Bob smiled dreamily at the ceiling, absently noting the faint twinges of scratches, gouges, and welts on his upper back, shoulders, and arms.

 

 _What a wonderful morning_ , he thought in a ecstatic daze.

 

“Ya know . . . ya don’t stutter when you’re not speakin’ English, hot-stuff,” Jack murmured wearily, running his hand up and down Bob’s six-pack, which was covered in Jack’s come. Bob huffed a short laugh, tensing up just a tad.

 

“I know. There’re th-th-theories about why s-s-stutterers d-d-don’t stutter while speaking languages other than their f-f-first. I could m-maybe t-tell you about some of ‘em . . . over b-brunch. I-if you're s-s-staying, that is?”

 

“Sounds good to me, hon,” Jack mumbled around a yawn and Bob smiled, the very last of his tension flowing out of him. All of a sudden, he couldn't stop grinning. Wasn't, in fact, even trying to. “Please tell me you’re ordering in?”

 

“Unless you c-c-can c-c-cook. . . ? And have actual f-f-food with which to d-d-do so hidden on your p-p-person. . . ?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Then there’s a g-g-great d-d-diner not f-f-far from here that d-d-delivers _and_ they’ll make j-just about anything you c-c-can think of.” Bob hugged Jack closer, running his fingers up and down the omega’s freckled bicep. “M-my treat.”

 

“Mm . . . don’t go thinkin’ I’m cheap _or_ easy, baby, but,” Jack nuzzled Bob’s shoulder when Bob snorted. “God _damn_ , ya had me at _delivery_.”

 

“And you had _me_ since the f-f-first b-b-blowjob.”

 

Jack looked up at Bob with dancing, curious eyes. “What—the drink or the act?”

 

“Hmm, well . . . c-c-can you k-k-keep a secret?” Bob asked with his sincerest and gravest expression. Jack blinked then nodded, his brows drawing together in concern.

 

“Yeah, baby. Of _course_ , I can.”

 

Bob smiled angelically and closed his eyes. “Well, whaddaya know? So c-c-can I.”

 

Then he was guffawing as Jack hit him with a pillow, mock-bit his shoulder, and called him a _Yuppie shit_ , again, before kissing him soundly, till the last of Bob's giggles tapered off into satisfied humming. They made-out for a while, learning each other with slow kisses and lazy, admiring caresses, until Jack yawned and buried his face in Bob's throat, yawning: “ _Sleepy_ , Bobby-bear.”

 

“Then g-g-go to sleep, J-J-Jack. We'll worry about b-brunch later.” Bob laid one last, lingering kiss on the bridge of Jack's nose and Jack's hand swept up Bob's sternum to settle over his heart. Catching Jack's hand, Bob held it against his heartbeat, stroking Jack's knuckles with his thumb before linking their fingers.

 

Bob was dozing shortly thereafter, Jack settled safely, securely in his arms and their fingers still linked over his heart. And the very last thing he heard before his impromptu power-nap pulled him under was Jack’s sleepily-mumbled: “Yeah. I guess I’ll keep ya. You’re still a Yuppie shit, but . . . I guess even Yuppie shits need lovin’ and lookin’ after, huh?”

 

 ***** “ _Ja, vi gørrrrrr_. . . .” Bob sighed in sleep-slurred, but stutter-free Danish, and was snoring before he even finished speaking.

 

END

 

 ***** “Yeah, we dooooo. . . .”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Did I hear someone ask for _more_ in this 'verse? Show of hands/comments!
> 
> [Follow me on Tumblr](https://beetle-ships-it-all.tumblr.com/)!


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